Bombers shatter holiday in Paradise

Under a burnt-out archway in what once was the lobby of Mombasa's Paradise Hotel lay the charred bodies of two Israeli children, a brother and sister.

The two, aged eight and 10, arrived in Kenya yesterday with their parents and 136 other Israeli tourists for what should have been a dream holiday away from the terror that has engulfed their homeland.

Had they not been so excited, they might still be alive.

If the terrorists' plan had succeeded, the bomb would have exploded when the tourists were checking in at the lobby, which bore the brunt of the blast. But the guests were processed quickly and most of them were in the dining room eating breakfast when the bomb went off.

The two children, whose names have not yet been released, were so enthralled by the traditional Masai dancers who greeted them that they returned to the lobby for an encore.

Moments later a Mitsubishi Pajero packed with explosives and manned by three suicide bombers smashed through the front gate and exploded outside the lobby.

The hotel management said a light aircraft then flew over the resort, dropping two bombs and another into the sea. Musalia Mudavadi, Kenya's vice-president, said police were still investigating that report. Witnesses said several rooms had been destroyed at two locations inside the hotel complex and at some distance from the main blast.

The children, an Israeli tour guide and up to 10 Kenyans, most of them traditional dancers, were killed.

The Paradise Hotel was a secluded and luxurious idyll, tucked away on an isolated stretch of beach. Yesterday it looked like a scene from hell.

Acrid smoke wafted through the reception and lobby, reduced to a blackened shell by the blast. Two vehicles smouldered outside.

Near one lay fragments of a human skull, all that remained of one of the men who came intent on bringing death and devastation.

So fierce was the force of the blast that windows across the sprawling resort were shattered, accounting for most of the 80 injuries. Fire rapidly took hold of the thatch roofing, spreading through the administration unit and bedroom blocks.

The force of the blast tossed sun loungers and deck chairs into the swimming pool. The blue waters were discoloured by ash, burning debris and carbonised birds floating on the surface. Flip-flops, bikinis, bottles of suntan lotion and holiday books crumbling into ash lay scattered beside loungers that somehow withstood the explosion.

Partially covered by a red and green blanket lay the body of Albert De Avila, the Israeli tour operator. His arm, thrust over his head, appeared petrified.

Mr De Avila regularly brought tour groups to the hotel. He had left his daughter in the dining room to ensure that all was well in the reception area. "He was a very special man, an officer in the Israeli army," said Uri Tabib, his friend and colleague who ran the hotel furniture shop.

"He was a professional. A serious guy, but polite. Whenever he took on a job he made sure he did it from beginning to end. He died because he was such a perfectionist."

Shards of glass from the shattered windows lay scattered through the bedrooms. The window frames had been ripped off and wooden awnings dangled haphazardly from the ceilings.

A gentle sea breeze wafted through the open windows, which looked out on palm trees, azure waters and brilliant sand stretching as far as the eye could see.

The rooms were littered with razors, holiday snaps, cigarettes, Israeli newspapers and more swimwear.

Michal Dadash, her head and throat swathed in bandages at the Mombasa General Hospital, said it was a miracle she was still alive.

The 50-year-old teacher from Jerusalem said she had never even heard a bomb before. She was on her first holiday to Kenya with her husband, Isaac, and their two daughters. She had returned to the reception because her room was double booked.

"I had just got to the reception when I felt the bomb go off," she said. "I fell down. I felt my left hand break and there were metal pieces lodged in my throat and in my head. Then I didn't feel anything and I lost conscience.

"I couldn't see. I couldn't open my eyes, not for ages. I could hear people shouting and screaming and I could hear and feel the fire. Everywhere heat and fire."

Her husband said when the ambulances finally arrived they had to ferry the wounded along rutted roads to Mombasa, an hour away.

Sulami Yehuda, the hospital director, was close behind the suicide bombers' vehicle and arrived moments after the blast.

"There was blood all around, fire all around," he said. "Parents were looking for their children, children for their parents. It was terrible."